“Then how much do you want?” Babe asked. They came prepared for dickering.
He puffed his cigar while he wrote a sum on a piece of paper and handed it over to Babe. Lotty popped off the settee and looked at the amount.
“Five?” Babe asked. “So, how much was you going to pay for the taxi-dermy man?”
Renoir took out his cigar and scowled while he thought. “Three hundred, and that’s just for the elephant.”
Babe let that statement hang out in the air with the cigar smoke. She’d played enough poker to know when someone had tipped his hand. “So, we’re going to save you money, in the long run,” Lotty said. She took his paper, wrote four, zero, zero and handed it back to him.
“You’re telling me you chuckleheads have four hundred dollars?”
“Cash and carry,” Babe said. “And what we want to carry is a wagon, two horses, the cages, the feed what’s left, and anything else what goes with our acts.”
“And the vet medicines, potions, and liniments,” Lotty added. “Egypt’s been sneezing, and it might be that horrible Asian croup coming on her again.”
Lotty turned around so he couldn’t see her pocketbook tied to her belt and from it, she pulled out another bundle and plopped it on top of the three hundred dollars already on his desk.
Renoir’s eyes landed on it. “I’ll draw up a bill of sale.”
“And something that ends our contracts,” Lotty was quick to add. “We’ll play to Medford. Not a step farther. Then we’re leaving.”
“And we keep our wages and tips up till then,” Babe added.
“We’ll want a full accounting of it all up to our last day,” Lotty stated officially.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll be happy to get rid of the lot of you. Cheesy acts like yours, Babe, strictly de passé. Folks nowadays are sick of phony fakes like you and want real talent. Rope walkers, trapeze artists, bareback riders. Not . . .” He gave her a sad smile. “Not the likes of you.” Then he pointed his cigar to Lotty. “Or you. I’ll bring the paperwork over to you when it’s ready.”
“You just get to writing it all up and we’ll sit here and wait,” Lotty said, climbing back onto the settee.
He pulled some forms out from his desk and started to fill in the blanks. He blew on the paper, then handed the contract to Babe.
“Give it to Lotty.”
Lotty read it over, nodding her head. “You sign first, Renoir.” She pointed to the inkwell.
“So much for trust,” he said, taking the pen and scratching his signature. Babe recalled the same sound in her father’s store, a lifetime ago.
“Now, you girls go ahead and sign.” He re-dipped the pen and handed it to Lotty. “On the back page. Just your John Hancocks and we’re officially no longer associated. As of closing in Medford, Oregon.”
“Make sure he didn’t fudge the money part,” Babe mumbled to Lotty.
“No, I think this is fine.” Lotty’s lips moved as she glanced over the contract again.
Lotty’s signature was as small and dainty as she was. Babe’s mouth contorted as she fumbled with the pen in her huge hand.
Renoir fanned the papers to dry the ink, smiled at them, opened a desk drawer, and slid the cash in. “Well, then that’s that,” he said, standing. “They are all yours. Body, boots, and britches.”
The girls were halfway out of the car when Lotty stopped. “Wait. Don’t we get a copy?”
“Oh, of course. I’ll have this taken into Eugene and get a copy written and notarized. That usually costs fifty cents, but I’ll swallow that expense.” He stood up. “You two balloon-heads have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into.”
“No, but we know what we’re getting ourselfs out of,” Babe said.
Once they were outside his car and well out of his eye- and earshots, Babe looked down at Lotty. “He sure didn’t waffle much, did he?”
“No, as soon as you said the word ‘taxidermy,’ he couldn’t sign fast enough!” Lotty said. “That was real smart of you, Babe.”
Babe grinned at the compliment as they walked a little further. Then Babe stopped again. “You don’t think he said yes too fast, do you?”
“What’s the matter with you, Babe? We got what we wanted, when we wanted, where we wanted and for two hundred dollars less than we were prepared to pay.”
“But Renoir’s crooked as a barrel of snakes. I won’t rest easy till I see them papers so’s we have proof of sale and all.”
“And our canceled contracts, don’t forget,” Lotty said, waving to Madame de la Rosa, heading toward her fortune-telling tent. “Oh, Rosa! Wait! I have to ask a favor of you!”
Babe smiled, watching Lotty scurry like a little child and wished she could move that fast and gracefully. But Lotty was the hare, Babe the tortoise.
27
With only a few more stops to the end of the line, Babe and Lotty were packing their personal belongings into boxes and stacking them into a corner of Babe’s cattle car. Everything in the “take” pile had to be necessary. The “don’t take” pile grew on the other side of the car. They decided to sell what they could, give away what they couldn’t, and burn the rest. On the top of the “burn this” pile was Babe’s Magnifica costume.
“Knock, knock!” came a call up from the railroad bed. “Anybody home?”
“We’re back here, Rosa!” Lotty called, wiping her hands on a rag and coming to the door. “Well, anything?” she asked, looking down at Rosa.
“Yes, indeedy! You got a letter! The stationmaster said you have to sign for it.”
Lotty looked at Babe, her face bright with expectations. She headed for the door.
“Hold it,” Rosa said, pulling her juju necklace out. “You know what to do.” Each girl did the same. “Eyes closed. Now, one, two, three . . . wish!”
Babe knew what each was wishing for.
Rosa winked up at Babe, helped Lotty down from the car, then walked off toward the mess tent while Lotty dashed down the tracks ahead of her, toward the station.
Euclid let out a short, urgent chirp from his cage. “You ever pray, ol’ man?” Babe asked the ape, handing him some peanuts. “Then you best pray Lotty’s letter is good news.” He raised his lips and showed his fangs. “No, that ain’t a good prayer face.” The chimp screeched, looking past her as Renoir hauled himself into the cattle car.
He pointed to the boxes and crates stacked inside. “See to it you don’t take anything belonging to me.”
“Ain’t taking nothing that ain’t rightly ours and listed in what Lotty writ down.” She walked to the “burn” pile and threw the Magnifica costume at him. “This is yours.”
He dodged it and kept looking around the car. “You know, Babe, I got to thinking.”
Babe’s jaw tensed. She recognized that tone in Renoir’s voice. “About what?”
“You two girls sure came up with an astonishing amount of money, considering the whole country is in a financial depression, people out of work, banks closing.”
“You ask anyone how hard we been working. Making things, selling things, taking in work, and playing extry shows,” Babe said, looking down the track hoping to see Lotty coming back. She didn’t want to discuss anything alone with Renoir.
“Fact is, I happen to know exactly how, maybe not where, but how, some of that cash got into your grubby, fat hands.”
“Everything’s fair commerce.” Her heart raced double-time.
“JoJo maybe can’t add two plus two, but she knows a thing or two about stealing.”
“JoJo don’t have nothing to do with our fair commerce.”
“I think she does. You know, there’s a way we can call things even Steven.”
“Even Steven happened with our boughten contracts,” Babe said, carefully choosing her words. She felt a rise of panic and her hand went to her throat. She touched her conjure bag, holding the proof of Renoir’s shady dealings—the rolled-up deposit ticket.
“Thing is, everyone thinks JoJo is too feebleminded
to steal. They think she’s as innocent as a babe. But you and me know different, don’t we? So, I’ll convince the authorities you stole it. Everyone knows giants can’t be trusted.”
Once again, Babe looked down the tracks for any sign of Lotty, or maybe Rosa, even JoJo. No one. Time to make a stand, hold her ground. She folded her arms and said, “You reckon the California State Bank has closed up yet? You know, on account of that there depression thing?”
He narrowed his eyes, then snarled, “That’s what I thought.”
“You think them back-east investor folk might want to know about you and stoled money and banks?” She glared down at Renoir. “Besides, you got your money back. It just came through the back door.”
The silence between them was broken by Euclid throwing peanut shells toward Renoir. “Well, Babe, this is what they call a Mexican standoff. I have a gun aimed at you and you have a gun aimed at me.”
“What’s Mexicans and guns got to do with this?”
“Think of it as ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’”
“You touch my back and I’ll squeeze the stuffings out of you!”
“Fine. But just remember this, Miss Killingsworth: a girl the likes of you, the size of you, can never hide anywhere for very long.”
Babe wasn’t sure how to respond. “Yep, hiding’s always been a problem. It’s easier to hide cash money, though, ain’t it?”
“I knew you’d be trouble,” he said, shaking his head and walking away. “First time I saw you, I knew you’d be hell-with-the-hide-off trouble.”
Inside, she was trembling like a cornered rabbit, but outside she was standing tall. Maybe not all power came from being big and strong.
“Babe! Babe!” Lotty shouted. Babe pulled her up and into the cattle car with a playful side-to-side swing. “Put me down! I got my letter! It’s from her! There’s an Aunt Valerie and she’s alive!” She sat down, the letter falling on her lap. Her eyes filled with tears. “She says we’re welcome and can stay as long as we want. We’re to come as soon as we can! She’s drawn a map to her house.”
“For truth?”
“For truth.” Then her face scrunched up a bit. “She’s calling me a godsend. To come as soon as I can!”
“What’s that?”
“Well, a godsend is someone, or something, you know, that God sends.”
“Like a plague or a flood? Oh no, I ain’t going in for anything churchy, Lotty. You know I ain’t.”
“No, I don’t think she means it that way. I think she means we’re coming at a good time for her,” Lotty said, looking back down at the letter.
“What’d you reckon that means?”
“Who knows? But at least we have a barn or maybe even a real house to sleep in!” She looked out over the trees on their siding. “And an aunt. We have an aunt!”
28
“Babe, Renoir’s raging about something. Says he wants you and Lotty in the mess tent pronto!” Rosa called up to the girls as she passed Babe’s cattle car. “This may be the end of the line for you, but we’re busy as hell taking down! Hurry it up! We have to get this show on the road!”
“Uh-oh,” Lotty said. “You don’t suppose he’s going back on his word, do you? Leopards don’t change their spots.”
“Unless them spots is painted on rabbit fur.”
“I mean it, Babe. If he . . .”
“I know.” Babe held up her clenched fist. “It’ll be one of these.”
The mess tent, always the last tent to be taken down and packed away, still had lingering aromas. The night’s last meal had been short on meat and long on cabbage, and the odor was a piquant reminder of Babe’s first day on the train.
“Where is everybody? Where’s Renoir?” Lotty said, looking around.
“Maybe in the cook tent.” Babe opened the adjoining curtains and again, no one.
Just then the tent flaps behind them swished open as voices called out “Surprise!” The girls were enveloped by nearly all their fellow performers and some of the road crew. Not Renoir.
The cooks brought in a huge cake, festooned with lit candles. The crew broke into a chorus of “For they’re the jolly good carnies, for they’re the jolly good carnies!” Ernie, in his one-man-band getup, pounded, tooted, banged, and whistled in accompaniment.
Scrolled across the cake was a bright red, gooey:
Good Luck!
B-L-E-E-J
Rosa pointed to the letters on the icing and said, “Cook didn’t have enough time to spell out your names!”
No sooner had they cut the cake than a tent flap whipped open. Renoir, hands on hips, shouted above the din of the crowd, “Did you freaks hear that train whistle? Everyone, get this tent down and loaded!”
The roustabouts snapped to it, grabbing handfuls of cake and tossing goodbyes and good lucks toward the girls.
Lucretia held a teacup painted with tiny, purple violets and handed it to Lotty, the matching saucer to Babe. “I know it’s not much, but this was my mother’s and I’d like the two of you to have the set. Maybe you’ll think of me when you sip your tea. I wish I had one for each, but . . . years on the road . . . you know.”
“It’s the prettiest thing I ever seed!” Babe said, holding up the saucer to the light. “Why, so dainty I can see the light shine right through it.”
“Thank you, Lu. You’ve been sweet. Even when I wasn’t,” Lotty said.
“Here. I’ve been stockpiling these since I knew you were leaving us,” Ernie said, climbing out of his band rig and holding up a large burlap bag. “Peanuts. Oh, and here, I requisitioned you some stuff from the medical tent. Reckon with those poor old critters, you’ll be needing this.”
Babe took the bags, nearly speechless. “Thank you, Ernie. You been a good friend to me and my critters.”
“Aw, ain’t nothing.” He cast his gap-toothed smile to the girls and backed away. “Got to go see to your wagon and team. Been an honor, ladies.” He winked, picked up his portable orchestra and left.
Serena stepped up and swished two beautiful sashes, one purple, one gold. “One for each. Remember, ain’t no costume complete without a splash of color.”
Babe took the gold, Lotty the purple. They swirled them around their necks. “Thank you, Serena. I’ll think of you when I wear this,” Lotty said.
“Sorry it’s so long on you,” Serena said.
“Me too. I’ll remember you,” Babe said.
“Sorry it’s so short on you,” Serena said. “Face it, you girls are just plain hard to costume!” She gave each an awkward hug, then dashed off.
Donny carried Babe’s rescued pup in the crook of his arm. “I know you might want your pup back, but . . .”
“Heck no, Donny. That pup spends so much time in your arm it’s like you two is attached.” As though the pup agreed with Babe’s decision, he gave a little chirp and bounced up to offer Donny a kiss.
The last two came up—Rosa holding JoJo’s hand. “Sorry to see you leave, girls,” Rosa said. “But I know it’s what’s best for all of you. Babe, here’s the address to my brother’s place down in ’Frisco. He’ll know where I am. You know. Just in case you want to write.”
JoJo tugged on Rosa’s robe. “I will, JoJo dear, be patient.” She bobbed up and down, giggling in excitement as Rosa pulled something from her robe pocket. She held up a scroll of paper. “Here, JoJo made this for you.”
Babe held up what looked like a crude painting of a humpbacked two-legged creature sporting a top hat, a long, curlicue tail, a huge face with jagged teeth. JoJo screeched with delight.
“It’s Renoir,” Rosa explained. “I think it’s a remarkable resemblance. Except the tail. Can’t explain the tail.”
“Ren-or! Ren-or!” JoJo said, twirling around with joy.
“Ain’t you sweet?” Babe said. “Going to keep this special.”
JoJo peeked around Rosa’s robe, smiled shyly, and gave Babe the okay sign with her hand—something she’d never known JoJo to do. And was that
a wink or just something in her eye?
“You girls still have your good-luck conjure bags and jujus?” Rosa asked. Each girl’s hand went to her throat, where the charms hung on leather tongs. “Good. Well, I guess this is goodbye.”
A gentle hug and a bear hug and Rosa left, JoJo trailing.
Babe ran after her. “Rosa?”
She turned.
“I hope you get your dream someday. You know. The big house and all. Hope it’s big enough for a girl the likes of me. So’s I can come visit maybe.”
“I would look forward to that, Babe.”
Lotty joined Babe, watching Rosa and JoJo disappear into the darkness. Behind them four men’s voices called to each other, “Ready!” and the mess tent collapsed onto itself and was quickly rolled away.
29
Not ten minutes later, the train tooted its angry warning into the night. “Come on, Babe. We have a lot to do!” Lotty said, leading the way back to the siding and their belongings, stacked and ready to go.
Babe hesitated, listening to the sounds of their last night, the last time they’d hear the carnival being packed up and put away. In the distance, horses snorted, dogs barked, and Egypt trumpeted.
Renoir had sent some men over to unload the girls’ gear and set it alongside the tracks. Lotty immediately started giving orders: Take this! No, not that! That stays! Careful there!
“Babe, I have to make sure they got everything for Egypt.” She dashed off to inspect the trunks.
Finally, a wagon came rumbling up. The laughter of the wranglers added to the shouting. One look and Babe understood what was so funny. Renoir held the lead rein, having a last laugh on the dwarf and the giant.
“Ajax and Honeycomb?” Babe asked, pointing to the span of horses. “This is what you give us for a team?”
“I think they fit you to a T,” Renoir said, chuckling. “I agreed to two horses. Didn’t state which ones. And that’s the long and the short of it.” He laughed, then strolled off, shouting more obscenities to the crew.
Babe went to the horses. Ajax, an old, gentle draft horse, stood nervously next to Honeycomb, nicknamed the Holy Terror. She was the Shetland pony used for kiddie pony-cart rides. Babe could tell neither horse was happy about the arrangement. Honeycomb had old Ajax in a state of flusteration already, nipping at his massive chest and side-kicking a back leg. Babe had come to think of Ajax as a peace pipe, and Honeycomb as a tomahawk, so night and day were they.
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